Towering Solitude
by CanakoNako
Summary: Hunchback of Notre Dame crossover. Kidnapped from a band of gypsies...indoctrinated into this life...and forever hoping to escape. This is Lovino's life in his belltower, alone...for now.


**A/N: This is a story I've wanted to write for a really long time, but I only just got enough inspiration to do it. I hope you guys enjoy this!**

**A few notes before we start:**

**Egon is my name for Germania, meaning something along the lines of "spear fighter."**

**Gaia is my name for Fem!Rome, meaning "earth mother."**

**The rest of the characters have their canon/fanon names. (Except for Mathieu, whose last name I changed to the French version of William.)**

* * *

_The world was completely dark, save for the small, purposefully-dim lantern carried by the man at the front of the boat._

_To the three on the boat (though, if one were to look closely, one would see that there were five), the darkness was something of a sanctuary. There was darkness, there was silence, there was the perfect cover for sneaking into Paris._

_The silence, though, was soon broken by the wails of a small child._

_The three gypsies froze, eyes wide with fear. "Shut him up!" one of the three, a tall blond named Egon, hissed, turning to face Gaia._

_She nodded quickly, doing her best to soothe the screaming baby in swaddling clothes, holding him tightly. "Shh, shh, quiet, little one," she whispered as soothingly as possible while her voice was still desperate._

_By her side, a small boy (no more than four) looked up with wide amber eyes, his own lips silent. He seemed to sense his family's pain. The boy was older than his brothers, and he was by no means a quiet child; all around the small band they'd lived in before, Romano and Feliciano were known for being loud. But now, Romano was silent while his brother screamed on._

_Before Gaia could silence him, the world took a turn for the worse._

_There was the sound of a horse's whinny, accompanied by the terrifying sounds of hooves and men. The three gypsies turned to each other in fear, Gaia clutching her sons close to her. "Go!" she whispered frantically, eyes wild in fear._

_But before they could turn, they were stopped in their tracks. The next several minutes were nothing but muffled screams, the sound of horses, and the clinking of chains._

_Gaia looked in fear at the men who had captured her two companions, knowing she was next._

_"_What does she have there?" _one of the men asked, speaking in a language she only knew fragments of._

_"_Stolen goods, most likely," _another voice answered cruelly, turning his icy gaze on her. The owner of the voiceteas a tall man, dressed more regally than the others. Even in this darkness, his ice blue eyes shone with distaste. "_Take them and then chain her with the others."

_The words were lost on Gaia, but when one of the men reached for both her and her sons, she felt more than knew what she had to do; she ran, carrying Feliciano in her arms and Romano on her back._

_The streets of Paris were cold and cluttered at night, cobblestones hitting her bare feet painfully. Shouts in French sounded behind her, accompanied by the clopping of horse's hooves against stone._

_Fortunately, she had had years of experience, while the _de facto _police of Paris obviously didn't. She jumped across fences, swerved through alleyways, and ducked behind walls, all while trying to soothe the once-again screaming Feliciano and the silent but terrified Romano._

_After over an hour of intense and terrifying chasing, Gaia had managed to lose all but one of the guards. She had never personally met the man, nor did she plan to, but every gypsy making their way to Paris knew his name._

_Judge Francis Bonnefoy._

_The name struck fear into her heart, and even more so now that he was chasing her through the terrifying and unforgiving streets of Paris._

_The moon was just beginning to set, giving way to dawn, when he finally caught up to her._

_With a stifled scream, Gaia put on an extra burst of speed. It was only pure misfortune that caused her to fall, or perhaps Francis had planned it. Neither would be surprising._

_She fell forward, falling down the flight of stone steps just outside the church of Notre Dame. Her head hit the stone with a sickening crack, blood pouring from a wound just above her eyebrows. She died almost instantly, letting out a small, broken scream._

_Feliciano and Romano, though, were both protected - Feliciano by the cloth he was wrapped tightly in, protecting his head, and Romano by his mother's body. "Mama...?" whispered a small voice, though it couldn't be said which boy said it._

_The sounds of the horse stopped, one hoof landing on Gaia's already-cold arm with a crunch, almost like a breaking twig. Slowly, Francis stepped down from the horse, boots hitting the stone loudly in the silence._

_The blond made his way over to Feliciano, looking down with disgust at the child. Too many gypsies had already infested his streets, and this one would undoubtedly be no different. He would con people out of their money, and he would make his presence unknown by the true authorities, and live for years on Francis's streets. Streets that should never be walked by undeserving gypsies, no less._

_With a flick of his wrist, a flash of sharp metal silenced the boy's screams forever._

_He dropped the small, bloody corpse on the ground, turning back to the body of the woman who had run from him and her other son. The small boy was shaking, clinging to his mother tightly and begging her quietly to 'please wake up Feliciano needs you and I'm scared please wake up mama please'. His voice was small and shaking, a verbal manifestation of his current state._

_Francis pried him away from his mother, eliciting a pained scream from the boy. That was all this woman was causing by being a damnable gypsy: pain._

_Just as he was about to send Romano to the same fate as his mother and brother, he was silenced by a loud cry of "_Stop!"

_He turned towards the sound, teeth gritted and eyes cold. _"What?" _he hissed, keeping his hold on the still-shrieking boy tight._

"What are you doing?!" _shouted the Archdeacon, Mathieu Guillaume, his robed and hooded figure racing from the safety of his church to the steps outside. He knelt by the fallen gypsy and her son, spectacles glinting in the moonlight. Behind the glass, amethyst eyes shone in pain and anger._

_Francis turned away from the small man, answering curtly, _"She and her demon sons ran. I have no qualms about killing her or her son, and I intend to kill this one, as well." _He gestured to Romano distastefully, and the toddler whimpered, shrinking down as much a he could while in Francis's iron grasp._

_Mathieu looked down at his right hand, which was covered in the gypsy's blood. He held the hand up to Francis, positively glaring at him. _"This is the blood of the innocent," _he whispered harshly, being met with only a cold and uncaring glare. _"I don't care if you claim not to feel guilty for this heinous act, and I don't care if you lie to yourself and your followers. But you cannot lie to God!" _As he spoke, he pointed one bloodstained finger towards the statues adorning the outer walls of his church. They seemed even more menacing at this time of night, here, on the bloodstained steps._

_The glare on Francis's face slowly faded, replaced by a look that seemed almost like fear. His grip on Romano's shirt loosened just slightly, but not much, as he followed the red finger to the statues._

"If you want to save your soul, care for the boy," _Mathieu hissed, motioning to the terrified toddler._

_Slowly, the glare returned, directed towards Mathieu. _"Fine. But he will not stay in my home. He will stay in your church."

"And where in my church would he stay?" _asked the now-baffled Archdeacon, lowering his finger._

"Somewhere no one will ever see him,"_ Francis answered darkly, looking down at the boy. _"...The belltower, perhaps."

_And so, Romano came to live in the belltower, cared for and simultaneously hated by Francis. No one knew of him, save for Francis and the Archdeacon, who rarely visited him in his solitude. He made friends with one of the statues in the tower, an ash-blond man named Tino (though he suspected his mind created Tino, his thoughts corrupted by stifling solitude)._

_In time, his memories of his mother and Feliciano faded, as did his memories of his native language, and his own name. Francis had given him a cruel name, one in Italian, one that meant 'I ruin.'_

Lovino.

* * *

**_Fifteen years passed._**

* * *

Dark, almost-auburn hair that was mostly tied behind his neck fell in front of amber eyes as Lovino looked out the window of the belltower, gazing longingly at the bustling city, many stories below him.

He'd spent his entire life watching these people. He knew every one of their names, and all of their stories - or at least, he convinced himself that the stories and names and worlds he'd made up for them were true.

There, the woman buying bread from the baker. Her name was Marie, and she was the wife of the fisherman. She was in her thirties, with two children, and she'd moved here from Toulousse seventeen years ago. She loved springtime and horses, and it was her dream to one day move back to Toulousse and create a small confections shop, where she would sell her homemade cakes and chocolates.

And over there, the boy around Lovino's age, with the wooden cart of fruit. He was Damien, from Roussillon, and he was supporting his family by selling the fruit. He had two younger sisters who still lived in Roussillon, and he was trying to save up enough money here to get back to his home. For now, he lived with his uncle, who was an unsuccessful artist. But they were happy, living in a small townhouse.

He sighed softly, watching the sunlit world that he couldn't be a part of. The buildings were so magnificent, the people so unique, the world framed by his window so beautiful.

He frowned, remembering why he couldn't be down there with the people he'd known in his mind for so long. He was born gypsy scum, he knew, and would die as so. It was only his good fortune that Francis had saved him from the evil woman who had tried to keep him as a gypsy forever.

"You don't seem like such a bad person!" protested a voice from behind him, speaking in northern-accented French.

Lovino chuckled lightly, turning from the window to face his statue friend. "You always seem to read my mind, Tino," he said with a small laugh, sliding down the wall until he was sitting down.

The blond grinned, sitting down next to him. "You shouldn't think so loudly," he joked, hugging his knees to the front of his light blue tunic.

They shared a laugh, the sound echoing around the room whose only decoration was huge iron bells. They had to stay quiet, though; Lovino's job was to ring the bells every hour on the hour, and to stay quiet and hidden the rest of his time. He wasn't fit for the outside world, he knew. If he were to go out there now, with his ghostly pale skin and scraggly long hair (not to mention his strangely amber eyes), he wouldn't be accepted. People would run from him in fear. No, it was better to dream about the world from up in the tower.

Still...he couldn't help but dream. What if he were one of those people, one of the people who could walk around freely and be looked upon without fear? What if he could spend one day in any body but his own? He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.

A knock at the door caused him to open them. Tino was no longer by his side; he'd disappeared into the statues again, as he was wont to do. Lovino stood just as the wood and iron door swung open, revealing Francis in the same regal robes he wore daily.

"_Bonjour,_" he said quietly, his hands behind his back. Francis was to be treated with the utmost respect, he knew - it was just something he'd learned over the years, to respect the man who had saved him from being an unwanted gypsy his entire life.

He received a curt nod in response, and the man entered the room just slightly - he often said that being in Lovino's room was putting him on the same level as the teenager, something neither wanted. "You know what today is, don't you?" the Frenchman asked, looking down at the slightly shorter Lovino.

"Festival of Fools," he answered immediately, keeping his eyes downcast.

"Exactly," the blond replied, touching the doorframe to keep a bit of his balance. He was by no means an old man, just a tired one. "And you know that many people will be gathered before this very church." A nod. "Which is why I want you to stay hidden today. Do not go anywhere near the window, and make no noise but the ringing of the bells. Understand?"

Lovino nodded again in response, feeling his heart sink. The Festival was the one thing he had to look forward to each year. So many colors, singers, dancers, words, everything was so incredible and interesting and beautiful.

And this would be the first year he wouldn't be allowed to see it.

He sighed softly in defeat, and Francis left silently, closing the door loudly behind him.

Tino grimaced, wrapping a still-stony arm around Lovino's shoulders. "Ouch...sorry about that. I know how much you love the Festival and all..."

Lovino nodded silently, closing his eyes. After a minute of silence, he let a small smirk grace his lips. "I'm still going to see the Festival," he said, whispering almost excitedly.

Tino raised an eyebrow, his eyes filled with confusion and a bit of worry. "Eh?"

"Think about it!" he whispered, voice even more excited now. "The whole 'King of Fools' thing, it's about who can make the most outrageous face, right?" Tino gave a slow nod in response. "And I'll bet that my face is the strangest out of all the others, and because they've never even seen me before, it's perfect!"

"Are you saying - "

"I'm sneaking out!"

* * *

**A/N: So? What do you guys think? Should I continue this, or not?**

**Reviews are appreciated~**


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